


guilt's trip

by lezz1e



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Religion, religious homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 21:12:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18948754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lezz1e/pseuds/lezz1e
Summary: "I don't want to feel guilty anymore," Travis says, his teeth scraping against each other as his feet bounced up and down against the floor. His breath getting heavier- the sound almost sucking up the keyboard noises, making the room even more tense than before.





	guilt's trip

**Author's Note:**

> please be really careful about the religious homophobia! and about the internalised homophobia in general! oh references to travis' dad too! please be EXTRA careful!

Travis plays with his hands, his nails scratching at the dry parts of his palms as his thumbs dug deep into his wrists. His eyes travelling around the room tentatively: looking from Todd, to the floor and back to his hands. His feet scrapping against the carpet making the tips of his trainers curve.  

The repetitive tapping of Todd's keyboard making his nerves rise, like a tide of dread in the pit of his stomach. Soft sunlight filtering across Todd's desk, but failing to reach where Travis was sitting on his bed- a subtle reminder of Travis' inferiority. 

He doesn't know why he allowed Sal to talk him into this. It's too soon. 

It doesn't matter that he's wanted to speak with Todd for so long. It doesn't matter that he needs advice on how to be- how to be gay in being gay. It doesn't matter that he wants to, for once, speak to someone like him. None of it fucking matters. 

Not when guilt coils around his insides at the thought of accepting himself. Not when the cross dangling around his neck burns at his collarbones. Not when he can hear his father's voice cite leviticus in his head. Not when he can hear his father's voice in his head. 

Every time he thinks about confiding in Todd, his father's presence wraps around him- and he's frightened. And he's angry.  

But most of all he's guilty.  

"I don't want to feel guilty anymore," Travis says, his teeth scraping against each other as his feet bounced up and down against the floor. His breath getting heavier- the sound almost sucking up the keyboard noises, making the room even more tense than before.  

His eyes brave, unlocking from the floor and looking to Todd. His nose sniffling as their eyes met. 

Todd's eyes are intense and strong, with a sense of knowing that makes Travis feel sick. His body twisted to face Travis, almost as if he knows what Travis needs right now. The wheels of his chair struggling to roll against the carpet as Todd gets closer. 

It's like he's done this before- no, it's like he's been Travis before. He's been the guilty boy on the bed, waiting for someone to tell him he's okay, his existence is okay.  

Travis feels his throat choke up.  

"I know," Todd tells him, leaning back slightly in his chair. There is empathy, Travis can feel it from him and yet, Todd's reply makes him angry. It's not enough.  

He looks away from Todd, a part of him knowing that Todd didn't have to give him an answer. Didn't have to do anything. It was nice to have him listen, after years of thinking Todd had what he couldn't.  

"I'm trying to think of what I would have wanted to hear, when I felt like that, about myself," Todd says, his fingers tapping against knee. His constant need for sound, highlighted in their conversation. 

His struggles- the struggles Travis didn't know existed, highlighted in their conversation. 

Travis had managed to convince himself that Todd was perfect. That his realisation was perfect and his coming out was perfect and his feelings about being gay were completely positive and- hearing that it wasn't perfect. It doesn't make him feel better like it should. 

It makes him mad, that people like Todd are made to feel this way about themselves. 

"I think I would have wanted someone to tell me that the guilt was temporary," Todd comments and Travis looks at him. Hope like a yarn of wool in his stomach, rolling and rolling and rolling out of control.  

Todd smiles at him, and Travis doesn't know how to interpret that. So he hesitantly smiles back. 

"Is it?" Travis asks, the ball of wool wrapping around his insides and infecting his speech and his actions. His voice filtered with pink. His body leaning uncurling from its defensive stance, waiting for Todd's reply.

"It comes back. But most of the time, it's gone," Todd says, and Travis thinks it’s the most honest thing he's ever heard. It's painful and sinks into his chest but, Todd's tone isn't harsh or mean, it's just truthful.  

He thinks he likes that about Todd. Honesty that never lingers into being cruel. It's rare, and it's a nice trait. 

"I want to live without being on edge about everything I fucking do," Travis confesses, feeling a part of his brain questioning why he can tell Todd this much. He tells that part that, he already knows why he can confess this much. 

They're the same. 

"That's not just the gay thing," Todd replies, and Travis doesn't try to deny it.  

He lets Todd analyse him with his eyes. Lets Todd pick a part his life piece by piece, carefully examining them before sticking them back together. 

It doesn't feel like pity anymore. Not like it used to. It's still invasive, but it's at eye level now.  

"It's part of it," Travis argues and Todd nods immediately, his feet tapping at the wheels of his chair.  

"It is," Todd says, and Travis doesn't feel inferior anymore.  

It's the right time. Sal was right. Like he always is.  


End file.
